


Little Haytham Things

by Jezzax_j



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I don't know how to describe this, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, ficlets?, minor smut, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezzax_j/pseuds/Jezzax_j
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection a some small mannerisms of Haythams and how you would react to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Haytham Things

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about what little mannerisms Haytham would have. This was the result of half an hours procrastination instead of writing an essay on Chaucer. One is slightly smutty but the rest are pure fluff and I had emotional tingles thinking about them.  
> I have also never written any AC related things before, nor from this POV so bare with me!! :)  
> I'm not happy with a few of them so I might edit and change them over time, but I plan to add another chapter or two with more if people seem to like these!

Watching Haytham as he tries to tie his hair back in the morning. Laughing at him as he get frustrated and his protests when you try to help him. Finally getting him to sit down on the edge of the bed and handing you the small red ribbon. Wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the crown of his head when you finally tie the small red bow. His hands running the lengths of your arms as you sit there in a moment of blissful silence, your cheek resting on the top of his head, before you release your arms and allow him to get dressed.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Listening to his small, unexpected chuckles deep from his lungs as you lean on his chest, running your fingers along the free side of his body. At the surprise of his ticklish nature, you spend the rest of your time trying to find his soft spots, and a surge of victory when he reluctantly laughs as your press your lips to the tender space above his collarbones. You continue to pester him, taking full enjoyment over this weakness until he retaliated and you find your back against the mattress as he runs your hands along your sides, at the backs of your knees, anywhere that causes you to scream out in fits of giggles. Your lack of breath begging him to stop as he kneels in front of you with that familiar smirk of success, his air of arrogance in knowing his triumph. You both settle down again, his arm around you and your hands toying the light grey hair speckled across his chest, “Well, at least I know you have one weakness,” you whisper to him. He bounces his chest with a scoff and a smirk.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When he takes you underneath his arm when you’re walking in the rain; pressing your body close to his as he tries to keep you dry. Haytham resting his arm across your shoulder so that the left side of his cloak hoods you completely, and even though you protest that he’ll be getting wet as a result he continues to cover you. That feeling of security as you take in his scent, and he drops his pace to match yours, knowing you often struggle to keep up with his long strides.  
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Haytham’s large, calloused hands wrapping themselves around your waist, as you take long summer walks, or as he escorts you to outings. He takes pride in showing you off, especially to other members of the Order. Your entire body tingles as his hand seems to fit the curve of your waist perfectly; his thumb moving in soft, gentle strokes. Sometimes you try to wrap your arm around his back, but barely being able to reach beyond his back. Leaning your head against him as you continue to walk, visiting parks and quiet city streets when the evening weather permits.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he wakes up in the morning, you are forever entertained by the state of his bed hair. His long, greying locks sticking up and odd ends, half covering his face. When he rolls over to face you, you can’t help but smile at him, and push the stray pieces of hair up and over his forehead. As he leans in to kiss you good morning you rest your hand on his cheek, thumbing over the coarse stubble. His arm moves up to meet yours, running his hand between your elbow and wrist, you spend your time not wanting to move, to lie like this forever, to ignore all your other responsibilities. You spend your morning planting kisses all over each other’s faces as you try to avoid the plans of the day.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Haytham has great stories to tell; he is never short of tales of his youth, and has the battle scars to prove them. His chest and forearms scattered with the marks of disputes between fellow Templars, murder attempts by Assassins, run ins with unwelcome visitors and guards. You run your fingers over them, and one by one placing a kiss upon them, as though that would make them disappear. He appreciates your empathy, but does not wish you to fret over them. You can’t help it; Haytham was no stranger to trouble, you knew this was not the final picture his canvas body would depict. You can’t avoid danger, not when the Templar's are concerned anyway.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On your birthday, he always cooked you breakfast. Kissing you and wrapping his arm around your waist as you walked into the kitchen, he led you to the head of the table, the spot you always left for him. He poured you a cup of tea, returning moments later with two plates of pancakes and bacon. Haytham was not the best of cooks, for he often had others prepare his meals, but you still appreciated the gesture. You smile and kiss him as he sits down beside you.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The work of the Templar Order often stresses him out. Being the Grand Master can take his toll on Haytham, as he often spends long nights drafting plans and letters for his fellow comrades. You know where he’ll be when you wake up in the middle of the night, to find the bed you share empty. Padding across the floor you walk out of your room and make your way down stairs, the door creaking as you enter the study. He is sitting at a candle lit desk, hunched over on a small chair, often with his head in his palms, or furiously writing across some piece of paper. You urge him to come back to bed, but his response is always the same. “Yes my love,” he’ll begin, “I’ll follow shortly. I just need to finish this.” You walk over behind him, placing both of your hands across his shoulders. He sighs under your touch as you begin to knead your palms across his back, trying to release the knots that never seem to untangle. You place soft kisses to the crown of his head as you continue to massage his back, until he takes hold of one hand, pulls it towards him and kisses it softly. “Don’t worry about waking me when you come back to bed,” you tell him, “Just don’t strain yourself with all this work.” You make you way across the room, your hand on the door handle as you hear him quietly mutter your name, “I love you” he says, not taking his eyes off the paper. But you can tell by his tone how sincere he is.  
“I love you too darling,” you smile, as you close the door over and make your way back up the stairs.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
If there was one thing you wish people knew about Haytham, it’s that he was excellent in bed. His stern and unsparing demeanour would wash away as a wave of tenderness took over each time you made love. His hands gently roaming your body, his lips leaving soft, moist trails down your neck. He felt almost protective at times, as though he was afraid of damaging you. The soft and concentrated noises he made sent you wild on their own. The care and emotion in his eyes as he entered you, making sure his rhythms and thrusts matched that of your hips. Going as gentle or as rough as you wanted he took his time and building up to a steady movement he would place his hands on your hips, leaning forward for long passionate kisses, your moans filling each other’s mouths. Screaming his name as you climaxed, your walls tightening against him with a burning passion he often soon followed, collapsing on top of you, exhausted. You let him lie like that, even though his weight was often too much for your small body. You listen to his breathing as it paced out, wrapping your arms around him and running your hands through his hair.


End file.
